Meditation on a Summer's Afternoon
by lynned0101
Summary: In honor of the release of the final move, I offer a canon-compliant alternative epilogue.  Severus Snape really didn't have to die, you know.  And here's how it could  or should  have turned out.


Mediation on a Summer's Afternoon

An Alternative Harry Potter Epilogue

[All these characters belong to JK Rowling and the people with whom she does business, in case you didn't realize that. This story is actually pretty compliant with everything in cannon, with just the merest adjustment to Ms. Rowling's Epilogue, and I offer it in honor of the opening of the final movie.]

Severus Snape sat in an awkward-looking chair under some conjured shade at the side of a make-shift Quidditch pitch. The sun was bright, but the air was cool; his preferred dark clothing meant he was more comfortable creating a patch of shade. He'd levered himself into this wooden chair with every expectation that it would be hideously uncomfortable. Really, who made chairs of wood, with no cushions? And such pronounced angles? He was rather surprised, as he leaned back against the tall slats of wood that made up the back of the chair that the angle at which his body was positioned was actually relaxing. And the broad, flat armrests were just right to hold the cup of tea he'd brought along to sip while watching the children risk their necks in their foolishness.

Goodness, there were no shortage of children, either. And those Weasley genes, with their predilection to produce redheads, must be strong, indeed. All but three of the fliers were redheads; those three had apparently lost out to the Potter gene pool and had the familial dark and perpetually messy hair. While none of the Weasley children had demonstrated their parents' complete lack of restraint in bringing children into the world, the simple fact that there were seven children to start with meant that there was a crowd of grandchildren.

He took a sip of his tea, and relaxed back into the arms of the Adirondack chair with a deep breath. His mind wanted to wander, but he kept watch over the little hellions weaving their way, usually on collision courses, through the sky. He was sure the parents were not nearly as attentive as they ought to be, and convinced his vigilance was the only thing keeping at least a few of them from messy deaths if they fell from their brooms.

Severus saw Potter sitting on the opposite side of the lawn-cum-Quidditch pitch, and noticed that his wand was in his hand as he watched his own children and the many of his wife's siblings. Feeling that someone else was at least attempting to provide the attention to ensure that this afternoon ended with no lives lost, he finally let his eyes flutter closed and indulged in his mind's desire to wander.

Of all the possible directions that his life might have taken, he'd never, ever, imagined that he'd ever find himself sitting in a chair named for an America mountain range, watching a gaggle of Weasley and Potter spawn attempting to play Quidditch. And enjoying himself. How had he come to this?

He'd fully, totally and completely expected that a final encounter with Lord Voldemort would be the end of his days on earth. He long suspected his life was forfeit, and suspected Nagini would figure in this outcome. He'd actually spent a good deal of time researching the nature of her poison, under the guise of enabling him to revive a Death Eater if the Dark Lord every experienced remorse after dispatching one of his minions. Of course, that never happened, but still, it gave Severus a reason to test out the efficacy of bezoars (useless), several traditional wizarding antidotes for poison (two of which actually accelerated death after Nagini's bite), and a few experimental potions of his own. None worked. He suspected that Voldemort knew that. When the time came, there was no hope.

Severus understood that his fate was sealed, and he made his peace with that. He'd done all that he could to protect Potter and the students at Hogwarts, and assuming the consequence of that would be his early death, he prayed that the forces of Light were able to carry on from there.

When he was summoned to meet with the Dark Lord as battle began, he could not have predicted exactly how the meeting would play out – Voldemort was entirely too lost in his psychosis to be the least bit rational or predictable – but that it might well feature his own death was very likely. If anything, a quick and relatively painless death would be a mercy, especially if it preceded the ultimate victory by the Dark Lord over the entire wizarding world.

That meeting went generally as Severus feared it would. Voldemort had gotten it in his head that he had to "defeat" Severus, and in the madman's mind, that meant killing him. How funny, almost, that Voldemort never realized Severus' duplicity, and killed him for reasons having nothing to do with his long standing as a spy. Nagini was tasked to do the deed, and Severus was left mortally wounded on the floor of the boat house as Voldemort went off to claim his victory.

The brief interaction with Potter and Miss Granger occupied his final moments. He actually surprised himself at his willingness to share his memories, to illuminate that which had been kept in shadow for years on end. If it gave the boy closure, well, that was all well and good, but frankly, it eased Severus' mind. And it was right that Lily's child would know, and maybe understand. Never forgive – no, that was far too much to ask, but he'd know. That would be good enough.

Severus did actually die on the floor of the boat house, of that he remained sure.

What he had never counted on was the arrival of Fawkes the very second Potter left. No one had seen the phoenix since he'd left Hogwarts after Albus Dumbledore's funeral, but he flew in an open window just as Severus breathed his last. Fawkes wasted no time in shedding his healing tears into Severus' parted lips, as he assessed the fallen wizard for signs of wounds. Fawkes then shed some tears directly onto the puncture wounds on Severus' neck. While the wounds began to close, Severus was past saving at that point, his heart having stopped beating. That should have been the end, really.

Fawkes had a certain resourcefulness that he no doubt learned from his many years with Albus. He hopped onto Severus' chest, and dug his talons through the man's layers of robes and vests and shirts, into the skin on his chest, right over his heart. It was common knowledge that phoenix tears have healing powers, but Severus had since learned that phoenixes have other remarkable powers in their magic as well. Fawkes sent a pulse of his magic into Severus through the talons embedded in his chest, and Severus' heart pulsed back to life.

In all the commotion going on as battles raged, no one noticed the gold and red phoenix departing from the boat house carrying a bundle swaddled in black.

Severus will still a terribly sick man, even as he recovered from the poison that had killed him. He was unconscious for weeks as his body recovered and his magic regenerated. As he reconstructed the time from his fateful meeting with the Dark Lord to his next point of awareness nearly two months later, he learned that Fawkes had carried him in his talons to a remote property owned by a very complicated delegation established by Albus Dumbledore.

Somehow, the ownership of the place was sufficiently clouded that it confused magic itself. It had given Severus no end of amusement when he finally figured this out. The most Gryffindor of Headmasters had more Slytherin traits than most of those sorted into the House of Snakes, to have pulled off that level of misdirection. The house had not passed to Albus' heirs, as it should have at his death. It seemed that only Fawkes knew of the house at the edge of the moors in Scotland.

The stone house looked small and deserted to any muggles (or wizards, for that matter, as the wards that protected it were strong, indeed) who happened to spot it. It was charmed, in much the same way Hogwarts was, to deflect attention. The rare hunter who stumbled on it while tracking forgot it moments later. It was a masterly example of the use of wizard-space, however. Once a wizard was inside, the small house revealed itself to be a very spacious and comfortable two-story home. The living area on the ground floor had cozy fireplaces in the sitting area, the dining room and kitchen. There were several bedrooms and baths on the second floor, as well.

On his initial arrival, Severus was deposited by Fawkes in the largest of the bedrooms. Fawkes had assured himself that Severus was breathing and appeared to be stable before taking wing again back to Hogwarts, where he found two elves, Jemima and Jasper, willing to go with him. They hung from his tailfeathers, carrying baskets with assorted potions and food. Fawkes could not speak, but had his own way of communicating at least a general sense of his need that they accompany him. Once the house elves arrived and assessed their new house, they were able to create a floo connection back to Hogwarts, and used that to bring in food, potions and other house elves as needed during Severus' convalescence.

Jemima was the rare house elf who had some medical training, and she managed his care. When he was well enough to be aware of his surroundings, it astonished him to realize that he'd been well-cared for, indeed. She knew how to spell nutritive potions into his stomach when he was not able to eat, and he was adequately hydrated, as well. As Severus slowly roused from his half-sleep to greater wakefulness, she presented vials of potions at each meal, making sure that he took the doses she gave him and ate the right foods. When he was able to read the notes on the potion vials, he was surprised to see his own handwriting on some, which is how he learned of the connection back to Hogwarts.

Severus was saddened a bit as he thought of Hogwarts. He had little hope as to the outcome of the hostilities, or what that meant to many of the children he had tried to protect. He assumed that the house elves were just operating as usual, despite the likely destruction of most of the school.

Jasper tended to Severus' physical needs, spelling him into clean clothes as needed, keeping his linens fresh, and when he was finally able to move himself, helping him into the bath. Jasper seemed to be afraid of him, and very reluctant to talk to him, so most of what Severus learned, he learned from Jemima.

It was at least three months since his arrival at the stone house before Severus was able to make his way out of the bedroom upstairs and down to the main floor of the house. The first trip exhausted him, as he had insisted on walking all by himself. He sat on a couch in the sitting room for the rest of the day, taking his meals there, dozing on and off. Jasper finally levitated him back to bed when he fell sound to sleep.

Severus' strength slowly returned, though. Each day, the walk downstairs sapped less of his energy. Eventually, he was able to move from the couch, and take his meals at the dining table. He could move to the kitchen, or over to the French doors that opened onto an unseen porch, sheltered from the winds that were starting to get cold, as the summer had turned into fall. There was a comfortable chair out there, and a small table. The fresh air had felt wonderful after all that time inside.

It was easily six months before Jemima suggested that Severus might want some reading material, and offered him a few potions journals and the Daily Prophet. Severus accepted them, but held the newspaper gingerly in his hands for over an hour, before summoning the courage to see what was going on in a world that now belong to Lord Voldemort. He was very conflicted over that – he had survived against all odds, but was not at all sure that he wanted to be a part of the world as it no doubt now existed.

He was beyond shocked to realize that his worst fears had not been realized.

Voldemort had been defeated. When he'd puzzled that out from the news of the day, he'd sat and stared into space for what felt like hours, digesting that most shocking, amazing, mind-numbing news. He promptly asked Jemima to enter a subscription for him to take the Daily Prophet, and she nodded at him the strange, wise way some house elves had. He remembered that day clearly.

Slowly, Severus had gotten his mind around the fact that Voldemort was gone, defeated once again by Harry Potter. The Light had won. The world continued, and maybe it wasn't so terribly awful that he was still here. He never dwelt on the stories of the battles, and the messy aftermath, but he had begun to think on what he needed to do to live. He'd never contemplated that as a possibility, so he had some thinking to do.

Had his life plan included the possibility of actually living, he might have made some plans for this next phase of his life.

It was amusing, actually, to read reports of his death. It was assumed that he'd perished that day in the boathouse, even though his body was never found. Potter had seen the snake bites, so it was not unreasonable to assume Nagini had returned and made him her lunch. And it appeared that Potter had spoken well of him, thankfully not divulging too much of what he'd shared in his memories.

The biggest shadow over Severus' name was the death of Albus Dumbledore. Potter had been a witness to that, the lone member of the Light to have known what happened, and he'd been very vocal about Severus' role. Potter eventually disclosed that he had learned that the Headmaster was dying of a curse he'd acquired in his fight against Voldemort. He had not realized until recently that Dumbledore had secured Snape's pledge to spare him the nightmare of a slow death. Potter told the authorities that he had learned that what he had interpreted as Dumbledore's plea for mercy was actually the Headmaster reminding his old and trusted friend of his promise to make his end quick and painless. Dumbledore was faced with certain death at the time at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange and Fenrir Greyback – and with their reputations, everyone appreciated it was unlikely to be either quick or painless at their hands. And, thankfully, Potter left Draco Malfoy out of it entirely.

With Potter's explanation, Snape's actions were seen in a completely different light.

It was also interesting that the goblins keep the records at Gringotts based on magic and not reports of deaths in the Daily Prophet, so Severus learned that still had full access to his vaults at Gringotts. He was not from a family that had provided him with a vault full of Galleons, but was surprised when he checked to learn that no withdrawals had been made since he was injured. That was the point at which he learned he'd been living in a house that Dumbledore theoretically still seemed to own, and the Hogwarts house elves had been feeding him and caring for the property with resources provided from Hogwarts.

As he thought on it, he decided that his potions skills would be the basis for his living going forward. He doubted he'd be able to live in this supported manner forever, so he needed a way to support himself, and even more than that, he needed something useful to do.

He'd regained a good deal of his strength and his small motor skills were returning, and in the middle of winter, he ventured into a small potions lab that had been created in the basement of the house. It took a while but it eventually all came back to him. Like most Potion Masters, he had always been loathe to put his creations in writing, lest some rival brewer attempt to steal his recipes. He slowly worked his way through simple classroom potions, on to the much more complicated ones he brewed for the Infirmary, and finally to the truly unique works of wonder that had always set him apart. He still had it!

It was just coming on to spring when he felt it was time to make some discreet inquiries of carefully-chosen apothecaries to see if they might be interested in offering his products for sale, presenting himself under the assumed name of Stephen Moore. He chose quality retailers in smaller markets in Scotland – he did not want to deal with anyone who'd accept poor product, on principle, but he also did not want anyone to recognize him or his potions. London and its environs were out, given his previous reputation, but in these northern parts, he was sure his identity would not be guessed.

He dispatched owls with samples of his potions to the chosen businesses, as he proposed creating relationships with them. He hadn't considered that Jasper brought the small packages back to Hogwarts and dispatched them from the Owlery there. Only much later did he learn that the four apothecaries who accepted his invitation to carry his products were initially willing to take the offer seriously because they recognized the Hogwarts owls that delivered the packages. They guessed that Stephen Moore was the assumed name of someone working at Hogwarts, possibly building a little business on the side in violation of some anti-moonlighting requirement. The products were tested, of course, and found to be top-notch, and they were happy to make them available to their customers.

As the weather warmed, Severus wanted to test the wards to see how far he could roam from the house and still return. He'd been spending a bit more time outside, and wanted to take walks, to benefit his stamina and health. Jemima spent a few minutes with him on the front porch, and assessed the wards. She assured him that the wards had clearly adopted him. He was free to come and go, as the house regarded itself as his.

This extended period of solitude was just what he needed. His life had not been his own for so many years, and it had been so crammed with people, many of whom he detested. Being alone for over a year to that point had quieted his mind. He enjoyed long walks through deserted moors and made his peace with his life. Even if nothing changed from this point forward, he was content in this bucolic setting.

Of course, complete solitude did not last. Severus had begun a very small correspondence with one of the apothecaries who ran a small business down on the shore of Loch Ness in Drumnadrochet. The man had one of the larger businesses with which Severus was working, and as a consequence, had a few clients with unusual problems. That quickly expanded the correspondence to include mediwizards who were treating the problems, so that Severus could best contribute to their solutions.

And it eventually all went to hell a few of years after that, when the wizarding world got around to the nonsense of recognizing and awarding all those who had participated in the defeat of Lord Voldemort.

It was no great surprise that it took the good citizens of wizarding Britain a couple of years to get their world back to rights, ferreting out the Death Eaters and other adherents to the Dark Lord's agenda who had tried to scurry back into their holes after his defeat. The Ministry itself had actually fallen to Voldemort, so it had to be purged and reconstituted before anything else could be done. At long last, the Daily Prophet was reporting on any number of trials, suggesting that the Ministry was finally functioning itself. Once the worst of the offenders who'd survived the final battles were dispatched to Azkaban and their less culpable cohorts suitably punished in other ways, attention was starting to turn to dispensing Orders of Merlin, First, Second and Third Class.

Naturally, Potter and his nearest and dearest were among the first to be recognized and awarded, but it spread like wildfire from there. People who had been anywhere near Hogwarts during that battle were absolutely clamoring for their day in the sun, as were people who'd done anything at all that could be portrayed as having supported the winning side at any time prior to that. It was actually getting rather unseemly, the way the riff-raff was elbowing each other to claim a moment of recognition.

Severus watched the developments with amused detachment from what he'd begun to regard as "his" house up on the moors. He felt quite safe from all that nonsense, and he went about his business. His business was doing much better than he'd expected, starting as he did using an assumed name to which none of Severus' own credentials could be traced. He exchanged his letters, brewed his potions and indulged in some theoretical work on the thornier problems presented to him.

It was when the wizarding world got to the point of honoring the fallen from the war that his cherished solitude was lost.

Potter had taken it upon himself to nominate one Severus Snape for an Order of Merlin, First Class. An excessive tribute, to be sure, but the man and his friend, Hermione Granger Weasley, were nothing if not persistent. Most likely, it was Potter's idea and Mrs. Weasley's sharp attention to detail that drove this. He remained amazed to this day that there was enough evidence in the world to not only overcome all the negativity associated with his name, but to elevate him to the level of honor that a First Class designation provided. His was one of the nominations subject to the closest scrutiny, and greatest and longest debate, so he was able to enjoy a further year of anonymity, but finally Potter and Mrs. Weasley carried the day.

When the Ministry attempted to prepare that posthumous Order of Merlin, First Class, in honor of Severus Snape, his name could not be entered on the parchment. At first, some suggested that this was because magic itself considered the man fundamentally unworthy of such an honor, despite what the Ministry had been foolish enough to do. But there was a functionary in the bowels of the Ministry who saw things a different way. She removed the word "Posthumous" from the citation, and his name was written on the parchment with no further problem.

That meant Severus Snape was alive.

That generated a small ripple of interest, but it still might have blown over, but for Potter's and Mrs. Weasley's utter inability to leave well enough alone. Gringotts, bless them, provided no information at all. There was no evidence at all for the proposition that Severus still lived, except for the fact that the Ministry could not recognize him posthumously. That was solid evidence of his continued life, so they went looking for him.

Severus learned that it was Potter's idea to ask one the of Hogwarts house elves if they knew anything about Professor Snape's whereabouts, and the game was over. The little creatures loved Potter, and that he'd actually thought to ask them a question cemented them as his hero. Of course, it would never occur to them to provide anything but a truthful answer, anyway. They knew Professor Snape was alive. Two of their number tended to his house, and they sent food there every day. The very next day, he had a letter by his breakfast tray from Potter, asking if they might meet.

Potter had been allowed to floo to the house a week later, bringing along the citation and an invitation to visit the home he shared with the former Miss Weasley and their small family. Severus dissembled for a while, but was eventually persuaded to visit. That first visit did not go nearly as badly as Severus expected it would. And it wasn't all that long after that the first of many invitations to attend gatherings with the extended Weasley family at the Burrow began to arrive. He'd begun to accept them as well, always surprised that they were not quite as awful as he assumed they would be.

Potter had done well for himself, it seemed. He had always been held in excessive regard by the wizarding population, of course, but he worked hard at the Ministry, as did his sidekick, Weasley. Mrs. Weasley surprised no one, continuing her studies, advancing rapidly at the Ministry, and now, popping out more of those red-headed menaces. An overachiever down to her toes, just as she'd been on that first day she arrived at Hogwarts.

It was the thought of those red-headed menaces that roused Severus from his reverie, and he quickly focused on the events occurring in the air over the lawn in front of him. No, all accounted for, it seemed. No fatalities. Potter must have stayed attentive, for once.

Now, it seemed his tea had gone cold. He stood slowly from his chair, and wandered over to the table set by the back door of the Burrow, groaning with more food than could be consumed by a crowd three times the size of the one assembled, to top off his cup.


End file.
